


Limits of Interpretation, or: So You Want to Date a Vulcan

by druxykexy



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Awkwardness, Humor, M/M, Oblivious Jim, Reboot, Romance, Shore Leave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy/pseuds/druxykexy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk learns that, when it comes to the cultural habits of Vulcans, it's not a good idea to trust other people's research. Spock gets to see a different side of his captain (that may or may not exist). There's a reboot of the TOS episode "Shore Leave" somewhere in the middle of all this. </p><p>Note: The McCoy/Barrows relationship is fairly background, and is included due to its presence in the episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ship's Closet Analyzation Commentary of TOS Episode "Shore Leave"](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/27179) by Brittany Diamond. 



> This is set after "Star Trek: Into Darkness," and begins right before the TOS episode "Shore Leave." While I'm using the new versions of the characters, I've kept some of the details from the original series such as where Kirk and Spock's quarters are located, etc. I hope this isn't too confusing. 
> 
> I was inspired by the Ship's Closet Analysis of the Shore Leave episode to add a certain scene to this. If you've read that, you'll recognize it when you see it in chapter four.

 

Kirk slid into the small space between his first officer and the edge of the bench, allowing his hip to press against Spock’s. The officer’s lounge was empty except for them.

Spock’s eyes widened marginally, and then they narrowed—just as marginally—as he moved away until they were no longer touching.

“Spock,” Kirk said, doing his best to keep his amusement cloaked. “We need to discuss some of your recent conduct.”

He silently congratulated himself for his acting skills when his first officer’s vague expression of reproach shifted into one of apprehension.

“Has my performance as first officer been unsatisfactory, Captain?” Spock said.

“That’s not what this is about.”

Spock gave him a look that wasn’t exactly a frown, but wasn’t anything else either.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Kirk made a motion from Spock to himself. “I thought we’d gotten past that.”

“Your assumption is false. I have not been avoiding you. It would be impossible for me to do so seeing as how both of our presences are required on the bridge, and—”

“You know what I mean.” Kirk glanced at Spock, and decided that he couldn’t tell if that was actually true or not, but he pressed ahead anyway. “We’re supposed to be friends now, and friendship implies some sort of,” he searched for the right word, but when it eluded him he gave a small shrug, “friendliness.”

“I do not see the advantage in treating one individual in a different manner than I would any other. According to Starfleet legislation, discrimination—”

“Stop.” Kirk held up his hand. “Look, I realize that if I want our interactions to have a more human element, then it’s only fair that I reciprocate, which is why I did some research on Vulcan Culture.”

Despite there being no outward change, a haze of skepticism seemed to envelope Spock.

Kirk continued quickly. “I know now that the things you’ve expressed to me, the times you’ve put a hand on my shoulder, or when you called me ‘Jim’ where actually pretty big deals. Not to mention what happened in the warp core, because that was big even by human standards. And you were the first to visit me in sickbay when I awoke from my coma.”

“It was my duty.”

“I was unconscious for two weeks. If every officer in Starfleet showed that kind of vigilance—”

“I was given some advance warning from Doctor McCoy on when you would be expected to revive.”

Kirk smiled, undaunted. “And I also understand that you deny things out of some static sense of propriety.”

For a moment Spock silently considered him.

When trying to read Spock, Kirk found it was fastest to make a guess as to what he was likely to be feeling, and then attempt to match it to minute clues in his body language—which were actually there, regardless of what people thought. It usually only took a few tries until something fit. The problem with this method though, was that if his initial assumption was incorrect it became very easy to arrive at a very inaccurate conclusion.

Like right now, he’d like to think that he’d wowed Spock with his insight, but his stiff posture, and suspicious, scanning eyes didn’t particularly support that.

“I am due to return to my station,” Spock said. He moved as if to stand.

Kirk put a hand on his forearm to halt him. Spock’s jaw tightened, but he complied with the nonverbal request, and resettled on the bench.

There were some advantages to being Captain.

“This won’t take long.” Kirk did his best to project a friendly, non-threatening, confidence that he hoped would improve the odds for what he was about to do. “But it’s important that you know that this—thing—goes both ways.”

Kirk drew one of Spock’s hands toward him. He knew he had a limited amount of time before Spock stopped him, but he was banking on the bizarre factor peaking Spock’s curiosity enough to let him finish.

A glance at Spock confirmed that he was either baffled into immobility or had fallen into scrutinizing paralysis, or maybe both. Whatever it was he didn’t resist.

“I know what the significance of this is to your people.” Kirk unfolded Spock’s hand, isolating his index and middle fingers, and then pressed the pads of his own two fingers to them. “And I mean it. There is no one else I’d rather have at my side.”

Spock went completely still, even his breathing stopped.

Kirk felt a warm, pleasant tingling where their skin touched. It made an interesting contrast to the Vulcan’s cool skin.

After a moment Spock opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was the second time Kirk had rendered his first officer speechless. Not many could claim that distinction, and it had him grinning with a bit more cockiness than was appropriate for the moment.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Kirk broke contact and stood. “I understand.”

An emotion flickered through Spock’s eyes, impossible to read, but telling that it was there at all. That his captain had taken the time to learn the Vulcan Oath of Friendship must have been more than Spock had expected of him.

Not that he could entirely blame Spock for doubting him. Kirk hadn’t realized that Vulcans even valued friendship until Lieutenant Uhura had tipped him off about it. Ever since she’d broken things off with Spock she’d been making a solid effort at strengthening relations between members of the Bridge Crew. He appreciated any officer capable of that level of professionalism. He resolved to thank her for her advice about the oath next time they spoke.

Kirk made his way back to the bridge. He didn’t notice that Spock made no move to follow him. 

                               

Kirk’s gesture of friendship must have made an even bigger impression on Spock than he first suspected, because there was a definite improvement in the friendliness factor. The change was subtle, but distinct in the weeks that followed. He no longer felt Spock was trying to end every interaction before it began, and he seemed more tolerant of Kirk’s personality quirks—or well, of _Kirk_ in general. Although sometimes he caught Spock looking at him like he was some type of mystery, or alien even, which was saying a lot considering where they worked. Not that Spock was being obvious about it, but sometimes he seemed to pause when looking at Kirk, and the circuits in his head could be seen firing behind large, dark eyes.

Was Kirk really so oblivious of alien cultures that he sent people into a shock-type response when he attempted to reach out? He’d have to do something about that image if he didn’t want to start an intergalactic war during the next five years.

So as part of his whole growing as a person thing, particularly into one unlikely to inspire cross-cultural mayhem and doom, he made a point of spending time with Spock on his terms. He toured the science labs, sparred with him in the rec room, and even learned to play chess. Joining him for meals became somewhat of a regular thing. He’d even tried some of the weird soup Spock liked. Although only once because he’d bitten into something that wobbled like nothing should ever wobble, and decided that there were limits to what he would do even for things like interstellar peace.

So, with all this one-on-one time with his first officer, he really shouldn’t have been surprised by what happened next.

Unlike Kirk, Spock had never been one to frequent the rec room. He’d made the occasional appearance in the beginning of their voyage, maybe out of some sense of obligation to crew morale, but the reality of a room full of humans and their vices was apparently enough to discourage him from making it a habit.

Tonight, however, Spock was there in the seat beside Kirk. It had happened almost accidentally, as if he’d been too absorbed in their conversation to notice where Kirk was going, and then once he remembered his decision to stay had already been made by default.

But considering Spock’s notable observation skills, Kirk was starting to think that wasn’t the case at all. Especially, since it was the third time this week.

So even if Spock would never admit that he was coming here just for the sake of their friendship, Kirk decided he would do the whole alien perspective thing, and forgo some of his own vices for the evening.

“Captain,” Uhura said as she approached. Her smile transferred easily from Kirk to her ex. “Spock.”

Spock tensed, which was unexpected since their break up had seemed amicable. At least, they’d always behaved politely on the bridge.

“Lieutenant.” Kirk gave her a friendly nod.

Spock said nothing, which was again, odd.

But Uhura only shook her head at Spock, as if at some private joke.

“You just missed McCoy,” she said to them. “He was sent a care package from home with a lot of tiny, little Kentucky Bourbon bottles inside. It’s been like Christmas.” She produced a few small bottles. “Want to try one?”

“I’ll pass. I’m sure he’ll corner me with it later, anyway,” Kirk said.

Uhura gave him a look of mock surprise. Inexplicably, there seemed to be a layer of gloating underneath it.

“Not drinking anymore, Captain?” She winked at Spock who still wasn’t meeting her eyes. “And I noticed you’ve been eating _healthier_ lately.”

It was amazing how he could make a secret resolution, and then not even three minutes later be challenged on it.

Kirk shrugged. “I don’t feel like it.”

Spock glanced at him, and he thought he detected a note of approval. It was almost enough to dispel the irritation he felt at Uhura’s next words.

“ _You_ don’t feel like drinking?”

Which was completely unfair, because sure, before he’d taken command of the Enterprise he’d had some incidents at some bars, well maybe more than some, but he’d been careful not to have any mishaps recently, and Uhura—of all people—knew that.

“Lieutenant,” Spock said in a voice somehow flatter than normal.

Kirk found himself cringing at the coldness of calling her that when she’d been “Nyota” so recently. Even Uhura seemed to wilt.

“The captain has proven to be responsible both during and off duty since his promotion to his current position. There is no justification in insinuating otherwise.”

“Spock—” Kirk faltered over whether to thank him for sticking up for him, or to reprimand him for his rudeness.

Uhura rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ll just let you two get back to,” she made an incomprehensible gesture between the two men, “what you were doing.”

“That would be wise,” Spock said.

Kirk was too stunned to say anything, such as apologize, before she walked away.

“What the hell was that about? Since when do you have a problem with Uhura?” he said, turning to face Spock.

Spock gave him that look, the one with the innocent raised eyebrow—not the superior one, he was probably saving that for round two—that meant that if Kirk failed to clarify quickly he was going to be hit with an I-don’t-understand-your-illogical-human-reference diversion tactic.

“I thought you were friends?”

Spock inclined his head slightly, as if he still found something in the question puzzling. 

“It is important to me that you do not think my allegiances are changeable in nature.”

Kirk fidgeted with a deck of cards that someone had left on the table to give himself a moment to figure out what the hell Spock was talking about. His allegiances to what? The ship? But that would have been more relevant when they were still a couple. Unless—had Uhura shown interest in getting back together, and Spock was afraid that if he did so the “changeable” nature of the relationship would reflect badly on his career?

Kirk frowned at the idea of them resuming their relationship. He’d never admit it aloud, but he’d been a bit relieved when they’d broken it off.

“So,” Kirk said as he began to deal a game of Gin between them. “You’re afraid that it’ll look bad if you get too friendly with Uhura because of your history with her?”

“While I would not attribute fear as a factor in my reasoning, I do admit to harboring some apprehension as to the negative effects of resuming a—a degree of personal association.”

_A degree of personal association_? Kirk suddenly had an idea of where this was going.

“So it’s not a relationship Uhura wants, but something like—” Kirk stopped himself from using the term _fuck buddy_ , “something a bit more—casual?”

While Spock didn’t look any less confused, his body language at least managed to indicate that he was confident he would soon comprehend the strange Earth-speak Kirk was spewing at him.

Kirk wished he could say he had the same faith in his future experiences with Vulcan communication.

“As long as you’re both interested in nothing more than a friendship,” Kirk said. “Then there’s no problem in finding physical— _satisfaction_ —in each other’s company.”

Spock’s expression darkened. Kirk didn’t really think that was fair considering he’d used a lot of euphemisms to avoid scarring his Vulcan sensibilities. He’d never really understood why they were all such prudes anyway. Sex was a biological function, and being able to talk about it as such seemed only logical. But maybe it was more of an avoiding-stirring-up-pesky-emotions kind of thing, and less of a moral one.

Spock took a small breath. “I was under the impression that human mating customs, while not as rigid as those of Vulcans, did share the basic requirement of fidelity.”

“They do, mostly, but it varies between individuals, and even cultures. For some it’s all about the emotions. Loving one person doesn’t mean you can’t love someone else different in the future, and there are relationships that are physical only, and others that involve love but no sex. Some people love one person, but are intimate with others, and everyone is totally ok with that. Humans are pretty messy with the whole thing.”

Kirk glanced at Spock to see if his explanation of the varieties of and alternatives to monogamy was being well received, and discovered that either he was attaining new proficiency in Spock deciphering, or he’d managed to scandalize him into a near open display of shock.

“But,” Spock said, his tone inaccessible, “ _you_ would not want me to engage in a casual, physical relationship with Lieutenant Uhura. Is that correct, Captain?”

Kirk flinched, but then did his best to mask it, because that was a totally unfair reaction to his buddy’s request for reassurance while walking out of the prude box. His only obligation was to make sure Spock did what was best for him, and it was most certainly not to care who Spock slept with.

Except, he realized, he absolutely cared anyway. He didn’t want Spock to sleep with Uhura; he didn’t even want him to spend more time with her because that meant he’d be spending less time with him.

Damn. This was exactly what he should have expected to happen considering his history. While his reputation suggested he lacked discretion in sex partners, he’d always thought of himself as just more open-minded than the average person. He wasn’t going to put limits on attraction with arbitrary things like species –although he preferred humanoid, of course—or gender.

Spock had interested him from the beginning, but his personality—not that his prim demeanor didn’t beg to be thrown down and kissed right off—had made it clear that it was never going to happen. Kirk was only willing put so much effort out when he knew he was going to be shut down, especially if it risked a professional relationship.

But apparently while his brain had decided Spock was off limits, the rest of him had plotted mutiny.

Spock was still staring at him. He needed to buck up and at least act like he wasn’t the worst possible friend ever.

Kirk straightened in his seat. “As your captain, I have no objection to you engaging in a casual, physical relationship with anyone, provided it has no negative impact on your duties.” Kirk tried his best to keep the _but please don’t do it_ part out of his voice, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was, because Spock was looking at him in a way that was—relieved? No, that didn’t make sense. Pitying, maybe?

“I commend you on your rationally derived position on the topic, Captain.” Spock gave him a slight nod. “Your opinion is unusually aligned with Starfleet regulations. Although at this time I have no interest in engaging in casual relations with Lieutenant Uhura, I will, however, keep your views in mind should future opportunities arise.”

Kirk obviously wasn’t as good at reading Spock as he thought he was, because it almost seemed like he was mocking him, and everyone knew that Vulcans had no sense of humor.

It took Kirk a moment to notice that Spock was extending his fingers toward him under the table in an attempt to perform the friendship oath.

So he _was_ teasing him. Well, at least if he was aware of Kirk’s attraction to him he wasn’t willing to let it get in the way of their friendship. Kirk joined his fingers to the Vulcan’s. He smiled at the familiar buzz.

It was such a curious little gesture. Kirk was used to it now, but at first he’d been surprised by how often it needed to be redone. Apparently it was like some kind of secret handshake among Vulcan friends. It would have been nice if it had been a little less secret though so that he’d have learned about it earlier. He still wasn’t sure how good of friends you had to be before initiating it either, so he didn’t know if it would be a good idea to use it with visiting Vulcan officials or not.

“Enough regulations talk, we’re in the rec room, so we need to do some recreating,” Kirk paused uncertain if that was actually a word before deciding he didn’t really care. “Ever played Gin before?” Kirk motioned at the cards in front of them.

“No, although I am acquainted with the rules.”

“Well, don’t expect that to help you, this is all about playing the person, and not just following the rules.”

“I anticipate imminent victory then.”

Kirk shook his head, grinning. He waited while Spock drew the first card.

But despite what he’d said, he wasn’t surprised when only eight minutes later—Spock won.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewriting a beloved episode actually feels kind of blasphemous, especially when parts of it are being cut out to make room for extra Spirkiness. There are a few direct quotes in this (my favorite one is from Sulu).

Kirk noticed Yeoman Barrows standing in front of his chair a second before she spoke.

“Captain?” She seemed nervous, or maybe excited, and she was holding a data PADD as if it was some type of offering she wasn’t quite willing to part with yet.

At the sound of someone addressing Kirk, Spock glanced in his direction. As much as Kirk wanted it to be because his first officer was having as much trouble keeping his eyes off of him as he was having keeping his eyes off of his first officer, he knew it was only Spock’s natural curiosity. Still, he felt a brief acceleration in his pulse when Spock left his station and began to approach.

The whole getting over his crush on Spock thing wasn’t working out so well.

“What is it, Yeoman?” Kirk asked.

He felt Spock’s hands come to rest on the back of his chair.

“Commander Scott has finished filing engineering’s requests for shore leave,” Barrow’s said. “He sent me as his representative for the scouting party.” Barrow’s handed over her PADD for Kirk’s signature.

“It leaves at o’ nine hundred,” Kirk said, nodding his dismissal.

“Affirmative, Captain.” Her attention returned to her PADD as she stepped out of view.

“Captain,” Spock said, and for some reason he was still standing behind him instead of doing the social thing and moving around to the front. Kirk had no idea if it was some kind of weird Vulcan experiment—stand at an awkward angle, and see if you can make your superior officer come to you—or simply a result of cluelessness.

Regardless, it happened a lot.

“Yes, Mr. Spock?” Kirk said, deciding not to turn around this time.

“I have finished reviewing the results of Doctor McCoy’s medical evaluations.”

“Go ahead and forward your report to me.” It was hard having a conversation with someone hovering in back of him. He didn’t share Spock’s apparent immunity to awkwardness. Needing something to do other than cave, Kirk raised his arms over his head in a long stretch. He felt a twinge of pain from his recent sparring match.

Well, if Spock was going to linger behind him like he had no grasp of reciprocal communication, then he was damn well going to put him to use.

Kirk groaned. He winced too even though Spock wasn’t in a position to see it.

“Are you unwell, Captain?” Spock asked.

He thought he heard a hint of amusement in Spock’s voice, which was completely unfair, since Kirk hadn’t thrown _himself_ down on the matt.

“I guess I’m a little sore from earlier. Maybe sparring before my shift isn’t such a good idea.”

“In order for the human body to operate at peak efficiency, it is important to stretch before engaging in rigorous activity. Failure to do so tends to result in injury.”

“So does getting manhandled by a Vulcan.” Kirk paused at the image that created. He took a moment to drag his mind back from the precipice of innuendo and filthy, filthy thoughts. “And lecturing me does absolutely nothing for that poor, wounded, muscle half way down my back.”

He figured this was likely to go either one of two ways. In the first, Spock wouldn’t get the hint, and would simply suggest that Bones take a look at his injury. In the second, he would get it, and would then proceed to remind him of Starfleet’s stance on sexual harassment before sending him down to sick bay to be hypo’d into contrition.

So he really wasn’t expecting it when strong fingers began pushing against his spine, slowly exploring the muscles of his back. The jolt that surged through him at the contact was almost enough to send him out of his chair, but he willed himself to relax so as not to discourage it.

_How was this actually happening?_

“Oh, yes. A little lower.” Kirk leaned into the massage as dexterous fingers located the ache. “That’s it.” He tried to stop himself from saying the next words, but he couldn’t help himself. “I heard Vulcans were good with their hands, Mr. Spock, but—”

Kirk’s mind stalled as Spock stepped into his line of sight. Disapproval was etched in every line of his form. It took a second for Kirk’s brain to restart enough to process that the hands folded neatly behind Spock’s back were not the same ones at work on his body.

Kirk glanced over his shoulder to learn that Yeoman Barrows hadn’t left after all, and that Engineering, evidently, did wonderful things for the hands.

“Thank you, Yeoman, that’s sufficient.” Kirk nodded a dismissal while doing his best to avoid meeting her eyes.

She gave him a brief acknowledging nod before she walked away.

Kirk turned his attention back to Spock, and the look in his first officer’s eyes was far, far too perceptive.

“So, um, you were saying…?” Kirk said.

“The medical reports show that every member of the crew is exhibiting signs of exhaustion.” Spock paused, and something flickered in his eyes that Kirk might have been able to read if his own embarrassment wasn’t hogging his focus. “Except for myself, of course.”

Kirk did manage a smile at that. “Of course.”

“I do have one issue to report, Captain.”

Kirk was grateful Spock was so willing to get back to business. Really, Vulcans made the best imaginary boyfriends. If Kirk blasted half of his unrequited feelings at anyone else on the bridge the way he did Spock, it would lead to an uncomfortable environment, and potentially legislative problems. But the awkwardness and flirtations just rolled off Spock like all the other illogical human emotions.

“Go ahead.”

“One member of the crew has refused to go on leave, even though his medical records indicate signs of severe over work, elevated cortisol levels, and slowed reaction time. It is, however, within his rights to refuse.”

“Not if I order it, it’s not. What one individual wants doesn’t matter when everyone on the ship depends on each other. What’s his name?”

“Captain James T. Kirk.”

Kirk’s next words scattered before he could voice them. He stopped to look closer at his first officer, and watched the corner of his mouth tug upward into that smile of deniable slightness.

“I see,” Kirk said, but he didn’t, not really.

Spock’s not-smile vanished. “Our leave will be most efficiently spent if you take the necessary time to recover on the planet, while I stay behind to attend to matters on the Enterprise.  This arrangement will be optimal since not only do I not require a break, but I find the idea of expending unnecessary energy during what is inaccurately termed a ‘rest’ not only illogical, but to be counterproductive as well.”

“So you’re going to spend the entire break working?” He wasn’t surprised by that, in fact he’d expected as much. Spock staying on board the ship had factored heavily into his own decision to stay behind.

Spock nodded. “Not only will I be able to catch up on administrative duties, but the temporary reduction in the crew will give me opportunities for solitude, which I find a most welcome condition.”

Kirk frowned. Maybe he’d been wrong, and all his flirting was taking its toll on the Vulcan.

Spock was waiting for some type of response. Kirk tried to find one that suggested he cared a lot less than he did. But before he could find the right words, Spock glanced around, and then quickly pressed his fingers to Kirk’s. 

Kirk relaxed at the contact. He was being an ass again. Spock was being a good friend by offering to run the ship while he went on leave, and if the flirting was irritating him then he’d just have to put a stop to it.

“It is important that you attend to your needs, Captain,” Spock said, his voice uncharacteristically soft before it became professional again. “The Enterprise relies on you for its operation.”

“Yeah, I get it, Spock. Hurry up and get out of your way.” Kirk smiled to make light of the words.

“I will inform you of relevant updates as they occur, Captain.” Spock inclined his head in a way that seemed to offer reassurance.  

The sudden image of a husband promising to call home each night before leaving for a business trip popped into Kirk’s head. He felt the muscles in his face go slack. If Spock thought he needed consoling over a few days of separation, then his relationship with his first officer really was getting inappropriate.

“I’m sure there won’t be much reason to.” Kirk waved as if to banish the need for concern away from them both. “And at least try to enjoy yourself, or find the time agreeable, or whatever it is that you do.”

There was a spark of warmth in Spock’s eyes, as if he found Kirk’s behavior endearing. Which Kirk assumed was yet more evidence that he’d been friend-zoned to the barrier and back.

“I will endeavor to do so, Captain.”

 

At o’ nine-hundred Kirk beamed down to the planet’s surface with Barrows, Bones, and Sulu.

“Beautiful,” Sulu said. “No animals, no people, no worries.”

Kirk nodded in agreement. It really was beautiful, and remarkably similar to Earth.

Barrows caught his eye as she grinned, threw out her arms, and spun around in the fresh air. He knew how she felt. It had been months since he’d felt a breeze on his skin that hadn’t been recirculated through a vent, nor had he had the opportunity to get outside and explore.

The sunlight cast shadows on the dips and hollows of Barrow’s form, and transformed her brown hair to auburn. Kirk’s eyes followed the lengths of her arms to her long and deceptively thin fingers. Maybe there would be some advantages to spending less time with Spock. Focusing his interest onto a more receptive party was the logical thing to do after all.

It would also be good to spend some time catching up with Bones. Over the last three months they’d each been trapped at their respective posts, and had very little time to talk about anything beyond necessity.

He turned to Bones to share some half-formed observation about the weather, or other inane platitude, when he noticed the guileless, toothy grin the CMO was directing at Barrows.

And from the way she was smoothing her hair, and sending glances back at him, it looked like neither one of them was going to be up for any diversion-from-Spock time.

“Ok,” Kirk said, deciding business was better than more thinking, “according to our scans this planet is not only safe, but essentially paradise. So let’s split up and get our surveys done as quickly as possible so we can get the rest of the crew down here and enjoy ourselves. We will meet back here in one hour.”

They each picked a direction: Kirk was east, Sulu south, but the way Bones and Barrows were eyeing each other, Kirk suspected they were going to become northwest shortly after they got beyond his line of sight. He found he didn’t care all that much, which was probably a sign that Spock was right and he really was overworked. Spock was right about most things.

He chose a plant at random to begin his scans. A lot of them looked similar to what could be found on Earth, but he was no botanist so there were any number of differences he might not be aware of. Spock, however, would have been able to expound on the differences for hours if he hadn’t stubbornly stayed on the ship.

Kirk stopped walking.

Was he really going to spend his entire leave inserting Spock into every other thought? This was ridiculous. He hadn’t had a crush like this since he was in academy, and had spent six months trying to talk a cadet named Ruth into going out with him. Actually, there were a lot of parallels there. He’d flirt with her, and she’d ignore him. She’d ramble on about science stuff he knew nothing about, and he’d find himself completely absorbed anyway. And since she actually was a xenobotanist, she could have told him even more about the plants than Spock could. She had always been so serious, focused on her studies, which was why she knew better than to date him, the same way Spock knew—

Kirk spotted movement to his left, and his hand went to his phaser.

He turned, and dropped into a defensive stance. But when he saw the source of the motion his breath caught.

“Hello, Jim,” Ruth said. She was wearing the blue shirt of a science officer that she’d not yet attainted the last time they’d spoken.

“Ruth?” Kirk’s fingers lingered on his phaser, not yet ready to raise it, but not ready to let it drop back into the holster either. “How can—how are you here?”

“I’m researching botanical specimens on this planet, and I heard that the Enterprise was taking leave here.” She smiled, and her arms reached for him as she approached. “You look great.”

“Um, yeah.” He shook himself into a sense of vague coherency. He let go of his weapon, and accepted her hands. “I mean, you look better.”

She laughed. It was a sound he remembered—all trills, air, and light. Loose, blond, ringlets of her hair were falling out of the clip that held them back, and he had an immediate impulse to free the rest of them.

“But our scanners didn’t indicate any life forms here,” Kirk said, “and I heard no reports that any other ships were in range.”

“I can’t tell you all my secrets.” She gave a coy glance toward the ground before locking her eyes onto his.

He’d forgotten how very pale and how very blue they were.

“Would you like to see what I’ve been working on?” She let go of one of his hands to gesture at a fallen log engulfed by showy, orange flowers.

Technically the plant life she showed him could be part of his survey.

“I guess I have a few minutes.”

 

A few minutes, and some questionably scientific observation of flora and fauna later, he was jolted from the reunion by his communicator.

Kirk gave Ruth an apologetic glance before he flipped it open.

“Kirk, here,” he said.

“Jim, there’s something remarkable going on in this place,” Bones said.

“I would agree with that.” Kirk’s attention was momentarily drawn away by Ruth as she trailed her fingers down his arm.

“Either that, or I’m no longer fit for duty.”

Kirk sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I saw something you’re not going to believe.”

“Explain.”

“Well…”

Kirk’s brow furrowed. “I have work to do, Bones, so if this isn’t an emergency…”

“Damn it, Jim, you’d take your time too if you thought you were losing your mind.” Bones took a breath deep enough to be audible over the line. “I saw a white rabbit and it—it was, uh, wearing an overcoat, and carrying a pocket watch.”

Kirk rolled his eyes. “That’s great, Bones, and I bet a little blonde girl was following him.”

“No, I mean it. It was as large as man.”

“Ah.” So this was revenge for that old movie he’d made him watch. Kirk let his voice fill with false brightness. “So what you saw was a Rabbit of Unusual Size.”

“This isn’t funny, Jim.”

“No, it really isn’t.” Kirk was too relaxed, however, to sound as reproachful as he should have. “Don’t call me again unless you find something serious.” Kirk closed his communicator.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said to Ruth. “Our ship’s CMO has an odd sense of humor.”

Ruth’s smile was forgiving, and when she motioned for him to come closer, he was happy to oblige.

“This,” Ruth held out a vivid orange flower, “has an unusual arrangement of sepals that is remarkably similar to one I was experimenting with at the academy when we last were acquainted.”

 Kirk bit back a frown. That had sounded more like the kind of thing he imagined Spock would say on a date, like maybe in response to being given flowers.

Damn it, he was supposed to be getting his mind off of Spock.

His communicator beeped again, and he repressed the urge to swear.

He snapped it open. “Bones—”

“Captain,” Spock said.

At the sound of his voice Kirk’s heart did a strange thing. He absolutely refused to call it a ‘leap.’

He was doomed.

He stood, and moved to distance himself from Ruth.

“Are you able to respond, Captain?”

“Yeah, I’m here, Spock.” He winced at the sound of his own voice. It had an element to it he didn’t want to identify.

“Are you alright?” He heard the sound of Spock’s fingers making selections on a computer in the background. “Do you need me to send down an armed party?”

His voice wasn’t _that_ bad.

“No, no, of course not. I’m fine.” It occurred to him that even if he did sound like he was on the verge of death, Spock would be more likely to confirm that first, rather than to overreact. “What made you think that was necessary?”

“I have reports that Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Barrows have been experiencing what appear to be hallucinations. There is also some interference in transmissions, and I detect some type of mechanism is draining power from the ship.”

 _Of course there was._ “But our sensors didn’t indicate any refined metals, or other substances that would indicate a structure capable of that.”

“I suspect it is located underground, and that it was in some manner shielded from our initial scans. Would you like me to beam down to take some closer readings, Captain?”

 _Absolutely not_. Kirk glanced at Ruth, but she didn’t appear to be paying the conversation any attention.

He forced himself to think about it as a captain, and not just with some irrational urge to keep Spock and Ruth from meeting each other. Honestly, they’d probably get along and talk about science-y stuff, and wind up wandering off into the artificial sunset of the biology lab together anyhow. Although—if they took him along with them that would be seriously hot.

…And far from relevant to the issue at hand.

“No one is to beam down until I look into what’s going on. I don’t want to risk anymore of the crew, understood?”

“Affirmative, Captain.” Spock hesitated. “However, I must warn you that I am beginning to have some difficulty hearing you, and we may lose the ability to communicate soon.”

“Tell Barrows, Sulu, and McCoy to rendezvous back at the landing site immediately. Better to not be separated if we lose communications. Meanwhile, keep trying to discover what’s going on at your end, and keep me posted while you can.”

Spock made a brief acknowledgement and ended the call.

Kirk realized that he had been unusually distracted since he’s arrived. Maybe he was under the influence of something that was interfering with his judgment.

He prepared an apology for Ruth to excuse him, but found she was no longer sitting on the log.

“Ruth?” In fact, she appeared to be nowhere at all.

It was then that he heard the gunshots.

Shore leave was apparently turning into an ordinary mission after all.

Kirk started in the direction of the sound. He opened his communicator to warn the others.

It was unable to connect.

It occurred to him as he ran that he was risking the possibility of running into the gun fire, but he didn’t see another option, not if his crew was under attack.

He rounded a clump of trees, and found a lake cutting off his path.

Sulu was standing directly in front of him.

Holding a gun.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Sulu said. He quickly pointed the gun away from Kirk. “I forgot how loud these things are.”

“You’re shooting a gun?” Kirk put one hand to his temple where his pulse was pounding. “Here?”

“Just a little target practice.” Sulu turned it around in his hands. “Isn’t it beautiful? My dad had one of these when I was a kid, and I always wanted one like it to add to my collection. He never let me fire it though, since it was an antique.”

“I don’t remember signing any requests for permission to bring that—”

“I didn’t bring it with me, Sir. I found it on the ground.”

Kirk blinked at him.

“Strange, right?”

Kirk opened his mouth to demand Sulu give him the gun, but was interrupted by the sound of the transporter.

He turned to watch as the beam started to appear, but then vanished again.

That was bad. Malfunctions of the transporter system could lead to permanent dematerialization, fusion with foreign substances, drops into unsuitable locations—such as outer space—or any other number of fatal outcomes.

A familiar silhouette started to take shape, only to lose substance and fade out.

Kirk’s heart stilled. _Spock._

The figure reappeared only to flicker out again. Then Spock’s visage slowly, slowly began to grow stronger until he solidified.

Spock caught sight of them, and began to approach, evidently unaware of how close he’d come to death.

“Damn it, Spock.” Kirk took a step toward him. “My orders were that no one was to leave the ship.”

Spock squared his shoulders, and failed to look the slightest bit abashed over his insubordination.

“It was necessary, Captain. I was no longer able to reach you by communicator, and with the energy field draining the ship’s power, I reasoned that there was some possibility that I would be able to beam down one more person before the transporter became useless.”

Kirk lost the ability to do anything except stare at his first officer. So Spock had _knowingly_ thrown himself into a malfunctioning transporter because he _might_ be able to beam down? And in doing so had directly violated an order solely because communications that he’d known would fail, had in fact failed?

Kirk clenched his fists. This was unacceptable.

He glanced at Sulu, but he didn’t seem to be paying too much attention to what Spock had said. There was a phenomenon Kirk had noticed among the crew where the moment the science officer started stringing together too many syllables, it was simply assumed that his logic was infallible, and they were then free to tune out the specifics.

“You violated a direct order.”

Spock’s lips thinned slightly. “Affirmative, Captain. I apologize for my misconduct. I will submit willingly to the consequences when transportation to the ship is again available.”

Kirk forced himself to take a breath. Spock wasn’t the type to act recklessly, or to needlessly disobey orders. He would question him about his reasoning later when Sulu wasn’t standing there looking like he wanted to be a quadrant away.

“That won’t be necessary, Spock.” Kirk forced his voice to sound neutral. “We can use your help. Let’s get back to the rendezvous point, and see if we can find Bones and Barrows.”

They began to walk. Sulu took point, and Spock followed a few steps behind Kirk.

After a period of silence, Kirk’s anger began to dissipate just enough to consider that, with how opposed to rule breaking Spock was, being called out on it probably meant he was feeling guilty as hell right about now.

 _And rightly so_. He could have died.

He glanced back at Spock, but he seemed as composed as ever. Only, maybe a little too composed. It was as if his body language was extra quiet, or muted even. Kirk had the sudden suspicion that Spock had locked himself down so that he could hurtle reproofs around inside his own skull without anyone else being aware of it.

Kirk slowed his pace until was even with Spock. Now that he was closer, he could feel the unease coming off of Spock, even if he wasn’t sure how he got that impression.

He was still furious, but it was hard to just ignore how miserable the guy was and all.

He offered the friendship gesture to Spock, and was surprised by the shiver of relief he watched go over Spock. It was very quick, but most definitely real.

When their fingers connected Spock made a slight wince. It was odd because all Kirk felt was the pleasant tingling he’d come to associate with the contact.

Spock looked at Kirk as if he had suddenly been handed some crucial piece of a puzzle that, while not completing the picture, did at least gave him a good idea of what it was about.

“You were concerned,” Spock said.

Kirk averted his eyes, his face heating. “You’re reading my mind now? I thought there were rules about that.”

“It was merely a fleeting impression, and only available to me because it was focused so strongly in your mind.” Spock’s voice took on a slightly different tone that, while just as serious as his regular one, seemed to indicate that he was letting Kirk in on some great truth. “I would not enter your thoughts without your permission.” Spock tilted his head slightly, as if under the weight of new information. “Unless you were incapacitated and I needed to do so for your safety. Or for the sake of the Enterprise. Or the crew. Or the mission if it warranted—”

“Ok, I get it. You’re not peeping around in there.” Although the exceptions list for when he would was a bit creepy.

“You may find it reassuring to know that I calculated the odds that I would survive transport to be six-hundred, forty-two point seven to one.”

“I refuse to be placated with numbers,” Kirk said, but he found himself starting to smile anyway.

“Numbers are considerably more reliable than the human tendency to ‘go with one’s gut.’”

Kirk chuckled despite himself, and only stopped when he realized Sulu had turned to look at him.

He wasn’t going to admit it, but if anyone could be trusted to get the numbers right, it would be Spock.


	3. Chapter 3

“Why,” Kirk asked, “is Barrows dressed like a princess?” His eyes shifted between the two crewmen at the rendezvous point, before settling on Bones. “And you’re a—what exactly?”

“Judging from the doublet, breeches, and hose,” Spock said, “I believe Doctor McCoy is attempting to replicate the period dress of a late fifteenth century, Earth nobleman. The costume is, however, inaccurate. That particular shade of purple dye was not prevalent at that location and time. Also, the stitching suggests—”

“Thank you, Spock, for wildly missing the point,” Bones said, shooting a glare at the first officer.

Spock countered with his best _I will never understand the illogic of humans_ eyebrow.

Considering the way Barrow’s and Bones were dressed, maybe Spock had a point.

“So let me get this straight,” Kirk said, “you found clothes lying on the ground?”

“Well,” Barrows said, “they were actually hanging in a tree.”

Kirk threw his hand up in the air. “And you didn’t think to question why they just appeared out of nowhere?”

“We did,” Bones said. He grimaced, and fidgeted with the lace on his cuffs before he spoke again. “But I really wanted to see her in them.”

At Kirk’s stare they both looked away.

“Did you see any indication of who, or what, left them there?” Kirk asked.

“No,” Barrows said. “But it was strange because we were just having a conversation about how—” She blushed.

Kirk was over this.

“So far all the stuff that’s happened has been good,” Sulu said. “I found a gun I’d always wanted,” he paused to smirk at Bones, “they got new clothes…”

“I never wanted a white rabbit,” Bones said, bristling. “And your idea of good is a doctor’s worst nightmare. You could at least try to have some decent desires, Lieutenant.”

“Decent, Doctor?” Sulu’s eyes moved slowly from the upturned toes on Bones’ boots to his wide-brimmed, feathered hat.

Bones glowered. He sucked in his breath, a lot of it, as he prepared to retaliate.

“So what that means,” Kirk spoke before Bones could, “is that something is listening for us to say what we want, obtaining it somehow, and then leaving it for us to find?”

Sulu shrugged. “Maybe, Captain, but I never said what I wanted out loud.”

“Fascinating,” Spock said.

Kirk gave Spock a look. “Is that your best answer—as science officer?”

“At this point, Captain, my analysis may not sound very scientific.” Spock returned his look, only his was a bit more tactful.

Kirk let out a long breath and with it his hold on his irritation. It was true. Nothing was making much sense today.

Spock had turned his attention to Bones. “If I may, Doctor?”

 Bones scowled at him, but didn’t resist as Spock scanned the sleeve of his outfit with his tricorder.

“Captain,” Spock said, his focus still on his equipment, “did you have any unusual experiences?”

“I thought I saw,” Kirk hesitated, only completing his statement when Spock glanced at him, “someone I knew at the academy.”

After he said it, the idea that someone from his past was on the planet seemed all the more ridiculous. It was beginning to seem more likely that the transporter had malfunctioned on him, and he’d never even made it to the planet, but was instead lost in some type of dematerialization purgatory.

Ruth had seemed real though 

In the distance, he saw the flash of a blue uniform.

“Do you recall what your thoughts were, before you saw that person?”

Kirk barely heard Spock’s words, his focus now on what, whether real or not, was a potential source of information. But if she wasn’t what she seemed she could also be dangerous, and he didn’t want to risk his crew.

“I want everyone to stay here.” Kirk glanced at the others, his eyes lingering on Spock. “I am going to try to get some answers. If I’m not back in half an hour, take defensive shelter and keep trying to contact the bridge.”

Spock took a step toward him. “Captain, wait.”

Kirk didn’t. “That’s an order, Mr. Spock,” he said over his shoulder as he sprinted in the direction of the uniform.

 

It didn’t take long to find Ruth. She was kneeling to gather a sample from something that resembled a fern. At Kirk’s appearance she smiled, and set down her equipment. She brushed the dirt from her knees as she stood.

It was a lot of detail for a hallucination.

“No longer busy?” Ruth asked.

“Some unexplained things have happened to my ship and crew.” Kirk tried to appear relaxed, while at the same time maintaining his distance. “Where are your people? Did you beam down alone?”

Her smile faltered. “You’re having a hard time deciding what you want.” She crossed the space between them to place her hand on his chest. “Like before.”

Kirk’s brow creased, before he schooled his features into careful neutrality.

“I was inexperienced and stupid then.” Some would say he was still that way now, but that wouldn’t dissuade him from his goal. “But I need to know how it is you’re here. We’re having energy problems, and might be stranded. If you know anything—”

“I know this.” She pressed her lips firmly to his. Then she pulled back just enough to let her breath ghost over his mouth, and mingle with his own.

It was exactly the way she’d kissed him when she’d said goodbye.

The loss hit him as if it was happening now. His chest tightened, the ache overtaking him in a kind of paralysis.

“Captain?” Spock said from somewhere behind him. His voice sounded different. Wrong.

Concern drove the memories from his forethoughts. He turned away from Ruth to look at Spock.

“What happened?” Kirk said.

Spock was staring at Ruth as if he’d fallen into some sort of trance. It was eerie almost, as if he was seeing something Kirk’s human eyes could not perceive.

Kirk glanced back at Ruth, but she was the same as before.  There was no revelation of some monstrous unknown hidden in the guise of a lost love.

“Spock?” Kirk moved to put his hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Spock’s stare transferred to Kirk’s hand, and for an instant he seemed confused as to how it had come to be there. Then his eyes followed Kirk’s arm up to his face, and whatever he found there seemed to awaken him.

“I came to see if you required assistance,” Spock said. His expression was sealed over, allowing no hint to his thoughts.

“I told you to wait.” Kirk frowned, but his tone didn’t hold any of the reproach it probably should have at Spock’s admission to disregarding yet more orders _._

“We detected no life forms on this planet, Captain.” Spock inclined his head toward Ruth.

“The equipment may have been wrong.” Kirk let his hand fall away from Spock.

“There has been some malfunctioning of our systems.” Spock paused, and he shifted his stance so that he was marginally closer to Kirk. “But for the sake of your safety, it would be wise to refrain from physical contact with any suspicious life forms until certain factors have been established.”

Kirk didn’t disagree with Spock’s reasoning, but he thought he detected something false in his words, almost as if they were too carefully constructed.

“I see,” Kirk said. He made a subtle nod for Spock’s eyes only.

But Spock didn’t have to be hiding something. The problem with all that blankness was it invited Kirk to project his own feelings into the void.  He needed to stop expecting irrational human behavior from a Vulcan. Even if that Vulcan was half human, it was obvious which side of his family tree he wanted his branches to grow on, and which side he wanted to keep pruned down to tiny little nubs. Spock probably viewed his Captain’s sex life with the same detachment he would the mating habits of squirrels, or some other biological study of the lower orders of animals. Well, except he’d dated a human, so he might not be completely dismissive of the subject. But he definitely wouldn’t care about Kirk’s activities, as long as they didn’t interfere with his duties.

Still, he wished Spock hadn’t seen Ruth.

“Captain.” Spock had tensed, and his eyes were focused in Ruth’s direction.

Kirk spun, his fingers dropping to his phaser.

But no looming danger had appeared. Instead, Ruth had vanished.

“Her disappearance was instant,” Spock said. “She could not have been transported.”

“A hallucination?”

“Unclear.” Spock moved to examine the place where she’d been standing. “Hallucinations do not leave footprints.”

“Unless those are hallucinations too.” Kirk rubbed his eyes, and looked again. They were still there. He hadn’t really thought it would help, but anything was worth a try at this point.

Spock activated his tricorder. “I combined the data recorded by the landing party with my own readings, and have discovered that there is no difference in base structure between the clothing Yeoman Barrows and Doctor McCoy are wearing and the plant life.”

“You’re saying the clothes are made from plants?”

“I am saying that they were all made from engineered, multicellular castings.”

Spock began scanning the area where Ruth had been. It gave Kirk a moment to look at him unobserved while he mulled over the implications that there was technology on the planet capable of manufacturing replicas of at least plants and fabrics. He absently noted that the sunlight brought warmth to Spock’s skin in a way that artificial light never managed.

“She was the person from your academy?” Spock asked.

For a moment Kirk was surprised he was interested. Then he realized that it would be helpful to Spock to know how many different people Kirk had seen.

“Yeah, she’s the one from before. Her name is Ruth.” Kirk paused. “I followed her around like a puppy for half a year or so, but it never went anywhere. I got tired of waiting, I guess, and I started dating other people. She stopped talking to me when she found out.” He had no idea why he’d said all that.

Spock just nodded, and Kirk was grateful for his neutrality.

Unfortunately, it prompted him to keep speaking.

“I later decided I’d made a mistake, but it was too late by then. She never gave me another chance, and I haven’t even spoken to her in years.”

Spock folded his tricorder shut, and moved to stand directly in front of Kirk.

Kirk felt inexplicably nervous, as if he was about to be berated for his stupidity, or for talking too much about something other than the leave-turned-mission, or maybe for simply being too human.

“It is common,” Spock said, “for humans to be sexually attracted to many, but to want a significant bond with only one other individual. And even when that bond is severed, some connection remains. But it does not preclude a new bond from forming with another, nor, when a new bond is made, does that invalidate what was before.”

It took Kirk a moment to figure out what Spock meant. At first it seemed like some form of Vulcan condolences: _I’m sorry your crazy human desires are making you dredge up painful memories of the woman that broke your heart when you were a teenager_. But Spock’s tone seemed a little too— _hopeful?—_ for that, like he was looking for something from Kirk. Maybe this was Spock for, _it’s ok, you’ll find someone new,_ and he was waiting to see if his pep talk was successful, which was actually fairly touching coming from someone who saw zero worth in emotions. 

“That’s humans for you.” Kirk smiled at him. “One giant, tangled, mess of stupid mistakes, emotions, and all the regret and heartache that comes with them.”

“And this behavior is recurrent because you lack emotional control.” Somehow Spock managed to say that as if he _approved._

Kirk snorted, which morphed into laughter. He had the sudden irrational urge to hug Spock, to cover him with kisses, or do any other physical expression of appreciation. Because it was awesome that someone as perfect and controlled as Spock could accept someone like him in spite of all his faults and his past stupidity—and if it wouldn’t have completely freaked Spock out he’d have done it too.

He settled for clasping Spock on the arm, and grinning at him in way that he hoped said, _thank you_ for being the one dependable, stable factor in his life, and didn’t make Spock feel like he was being laughed at for trying to help.

“We should go,” Kirk said. He began to walk and Spock fell into step beside him. “You know, your life would be easier if you were on a ship full of Vulcans.”

“It is of no consequence now.” Spock seemed lighter. His expression had relaxed a little, and Kirk caught him looking at him sideways, a spark of what might have been fond amusement in his eyes.

Kirk liked that look. A lot.

He opened his mouth to say something to try to provoke more of it, but he closed it again before he gave in to the impulse. If Spock was going to continue to be so understanding of his inappropriate, affectionate urges, then he could at least do his best not to express so many of them.

But it was hard, especially when his first officer was walking so close to him. One misstep and their shoulders would have brushed against each other, although that would never happen, of course, because Spock had never misstepped in his life.

Except that Kirk was then proven completely wrong as Spock tripped over a root, and pitched into his arms.

The contact was electric, spreading out from wherever their skin touched, and even from just the coolness of Spock’s body through his shirt. Kirk was too affected to do more than wrap his arms around Spock as he sought to stabilize his footing, and it had nothing to do with Spock being a touch telepath—this was solely his own nervous system going into warp at finally getting to know what it was like to be pressed up against Spock.

“Are you alright?” Kirk asked.

“I apologize.” Spock made a slight frown of concentration. “That was uncharacteristically uncoordinated of me.”

“I don’t mind catching you,” Kirk said, his smirk contaminating his words.

For some reason Spock wasn’t pulling away even though he’d regained his balance. Instead his eyes were focused on Kirk, his face blank, and his body unmoving. As if Kirk had short circuited him.

It was a nice thought at least.

Kirk leaned in closer, wanting to see what would happen, but he stopped just before his lips contacted Spock’s. It was a big step, and he’d never had any indication it would be reciprocated.

He searched Spock’s face for signs he wanted to stop, or continue, or for anything at all.

Spock swallowed, but his expression remained closed off. He pulled back just enough to let Kirk see what he was doing, and slowly took Kirk’s wrist. He turned his hand palm side up and pressed their first two fingers together in a touch that started light, but became more forceful.

The message was clear— _friends._ Nothing more.

 _Ow_. Kirk closed his eyes for just a moment before he willed himself to step away.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Captain, I…” Spock seemed confused, and almost disappointed. He was probably disturbed by Kirk’s lack of self-restraint.

“We should hurry.” Kirk plastered on a false grin, and turned his back on Spock. So what if he wanted someone that didn’t want him back? He would get over it. And he could do it without spending every moment of the day wondering what his skin felt like, what it would be like to get him out of that blue shirt, to mouth at his neck and run his tongue down his chest—it didn’t matter because he would never know—

Kirk heard Spock suck in his breath, and he turned to see what had happened.

Spock had gone perfectly still, his eyes wide as they stared down at his disintegrating shirt. Strips of blue and black—the undershirt was not spared—fell to the forest floor.

“I have been formulating a theory,” Spock said slowly, “that on this planet there is some artificial means of detecting the desires of humans, and then manufacturing them into reality.” He paused. “Captain, may I inquire as to what your thoughts were just now?”

Kirk felt his face blanch. _This could not be his fault._ Because if so then he had to be in some kind of purgatory, because there was no way life could be cruel enough to put his bad thoughts on display in front of Spock like this.

There was a long silence where Spock seemed to be trying to meet his eyes, and Kirk did his best to avoid this.

“I don’t know,” Kirk said finally.

“Captain,” Spock let his voice drop until it was a low rumble that _did things_ to Kirk’s insides, “Jim, if our thoughts are becoming reality, then the landing party is in danger.”

 “That’s not good.” Kirk swallowed, forcing his mind to focus on what was important. “But, I mean, it’s possible that—in passing—I may have had a thought that would have—maybe.”

Spock seemed almost pleased at that, as if the sensation of being right was, in fact, stronger than the discomfort of being the target of unwanted attraction capable of removing clothes from his body.

His _shirt_ , Kirk mentally corrected. Only his shirt. It was imperative that he didn’t think about the rest of Spock’s clothes, just in case.

“But,” Kirk said, as a problem with the theory occurred to him, “not every thought I’ve had has come true.”

“I had determined as much. Despite the limitations of the human mind, I did surmise that you had more than four thoughts while you were on leave.”

 _Four thoughts?_ Kirk opened his mouth to ask, but then stopped, deciding he didn’t actually want to know what he was being blamed for.

“It is fortunate that while Vulcan’s have accelerated cognitive processes, we also have a greater ability to control our more rapid impulses. Or else, if I was inclined to seek vengeance—” Spock’s mouth fell open and a world of justice tumbled out instead of the end of that sentence.

“I will never let you live this down,” Kirk said, as he brushed what was left of his own shirt off of his chest.

Spock’s eyes jerked away from Kirk’s exposed skin to instead concentrate on the ground.

Kirk grinned, forever ready to appreciate these kinds of moments, since they were always so brief before everything went to hell again.

“We must control our thoughts,” Spock said.

“If you tell me not to think about something,” Kirk said, “then it’s going to be all I’m going to think about.”

Spock’s grimace was actually visible this time. “We should rejoin the others.”

“They need to be warned.” Kirk nodded, without stopping to think why, he grabbed Spock’s wrist and tugged him after him.

He did his best not to think about how nice skin on skin contact felt with Spock. Although he supposed there were worse things he could be thinking.

Except, he heard Spock’s breath hitch, and he had a sudden sensation, not the same as the tingling from the friendship gesture, but definitely something. Damn it, he should have known better than to have direct skin contact with a shirtless touch telepath when he wanted nothing more than to grab ahold of him and—

Spock was staring at him with eyes wide, no doubt at the things Kirk was broadcasting.

Kirk let go.

By some act of mercy Spock said nothing.

Kirk switched his attention to the path ahead, determined to think of that, and only that. It was just in time too, as he narrowly avoided trampling one of the two squirrels that were chasing each other through the underbrush.

 

The rendezvous point looked like the aftermath of a battle. Scorch marks and hoof prints marred the ground. Armor and weapons from several different cultures were strewn about. Most of it Kirk couldn’t identify, but he did recognize a jousting lance and some shuirkens. Sulu and Barrows were huddled together in a tree, and Bones…

Bones was inside a very small cage, which was inside another cage—that contained a tiger.

Well, at least no one was likely to question why the captain and first officer were missing half their clothes.

“Captain, Commander, get up high before they come back!” Sulu shouted.

Barrows gestured at them to hurry.

“Listen, everyone!” Kirk waved his arms to get their attention. “Thoughts become reality here. We have to control them. Climb down, and stand at attention.”

Sulu and Barrows exchanged a glance, but they began their descents. Bones made an odd grumbling noise, which accomplished nothing other than to agitate the tiger.

“Focus on nothing except standing at attention,” Kirk said. “Clear your minds. Don’t speak, don’t move, don’t even—”

“Captain, do not—” Spock began.

“Breathe,” Kirk said, before it registered that he really, really shouldn’t have.

Spock began to choke. Kirk’s own lungs were paralyzed. Sulu and Barrows stumbled, clutching at their throats as they moved away from the tree.

What had he done? He collapsed on the ground, the edges of his vision fuzzy and dark.

Then suddenly his air returned. He gasped, and turned toward Spock, who was on the ground, but breathing as well.

He noticed that Spock’s shirt was back one second before he felt the cloth return to his own body. The cages—and thankfully—the tiger had vanished. Bones and Barrows were again dressed like sane members of the crew. The armor, weapons, and even the disturbed ground was back to the way it was when they first arrived.

They were, however, no longer alone. But unlike Ruth, he didn’t recognize the older man that stood before them in a long, green robe. So he had to have been summoned from someone else’s past this time—unless, of course, he’d blocked out a drunken one night stand with a wizard.

“It has been brought to my attention that your party does not know how to properly operate this planet,” the wizard said.

“Who are you?” Kirk asked, regaining his feet. Spock put a hand out to help steady him, and he gave him the briefest nod of appreciation before returning his attention to the stranger.

“That is beyond the comprehension of your species,” he said existentially, and waved a dismissive hand at Kirk. “But you may refer to me as the Caretaker, Captain Kirk.”

“You know my name?”

“Of course,” the man turned to gesture at each of the crew in turn, “Lieutenant Sulu, Doctor McCoy, Yeoman Barrows, and,” he smiled at Kirk, as if at a private joke, “Mr. Spock.”

Kirk felt uneasy at that, not that it stood out much among everything else that he had to feel uneasy about, but he had no idea what the stranger was implying, or why Spock was the only one he hadn’t referred to by rank.

“Our ship has lost power,” Kirk said. “We have no means of communicating with it, let alone returning—”

“A mistake for which I apologize.” The Caretaker gave another wave. He seemed fond of those. “Incompatibility between your system and ours caused power instability for you. It has been corrected now, and while it was no doubt, unpleasant for you, our people did enjoy the opportunity to examine your ship. It has been a long time since we have been able to witness such primitive technology.”

Kirk was glad that Scotty wasn’t present for that comment.

He opened his communicator to verify the claims, but it beeped before he could send the transmission.

“Captain Kirk, our power has been restored,” Uhura said. “Are you in need of assistance?”

Kirk considered the Caretaker for a moment. “Stand by. Prepare to beam up the landing party at my command.”

“Acknowledged, Captain.”

“Kirk, out.” He closed his communicator.

“Satisfied?” The Caretaker asked.

“What is the purpose of all this?” Kirk asked.

“This planet was created for entertainment.”

“That’s not the word I would use,” Bones said.

Kirk’s brow creased. “You find entertainment in watching unsuspecting visitors stumble around in confusion and terror?”

At Kirk’s words the Caretaker did, in fact, begin to radiate amusement, as if his confusion in particular was especially entertaining. Kirk felt his anger mounting, and his hands became fists. But before he could act he felt Spock’s hand on his arm. Kirk looked at him, and his eyes were captured for a moment.

“If I may, Captain?” Spock asked, and at Kirk’s nod he turned his attention to the Caretaker. “I believe I have read about something similar in Earth’s history. Places created to deliver novel experiences, whether through excitement, fear, or pleasure. They were called amusement parks.”

Spock had that expression that he got whenever he had the chance to not only apply knowledge, but to gain new information as well. Even though it really wasn’t the time for it, Kirk felt a wave of fondness wash over him. This was exactly the trait that got him to listen to long calculated odds, or inapplicable historical facts, or ethical considerations that were basically impossible.

“Your description bears an excellent likeness to the function of this planet,” the Caretaker said. “Now that we have a better understanding of one another, I would recommend that your crew stay to enjoy the benefits of this planet—provided some additional precautions are set in place.”

“I don’t think we need any more novelty,” Kirk said.

“It might not be that bad, Jim, with the right safety measures,” Bones said.

Kirk turned to look at his CMO, who had clearly lost his mind, only to see Barrows link her arm through his and nod.

“It would be a shame to cancel leave, Captain,” Barrows said.

“Seriously? After everything that’s happened?” Kirk asked.

Sulu gave him a shrug, and then grinned.

“A set phrase can be used when voicing desires, rather than relying on your thoughts the way we would,” the Caretaker said. “It would prevent accidental requests.”

Bones smiled. “Some good old magic words, that sounds like a reasonable solution.”

Barrows whispered something in his ear, and from the way his smile increased, Kirk was glad he couldn’t hear it.

“Do you have any suggestions as to which words would be suitable, Captain Kirk?” the Caretaker asked.

Kirk blamed Bones entirely when the first thing that came to his mind was “please,” because his mother had always called it the “magic word” when he was a kid. Not wanting to sound like a five year old in front of his crew, he kept that to himself, and tried to think of something else.

“Abracadabra!” Sulu said.

Bones made a choking sound.

Kirk didn’t blame him. The idea of the crew running around repeating that for the whole leave was ridiculous. But then his eyes went to Spock, and he grinned.

“Well, Mr. Spock?” Kirk said. “Does that sound like a logical choice to you?”

Spock opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Bones.

“Like hell it does! We can use ‘I wish’ like any sane person would. Jesus.”

“Is that acceptable?” the Caretaker asked.

Kirk nodded. “It’ll work.” But at some point he was going to have to find a way to convince Spock to say abracadabra. Just once.

“Our scans indicate that with the exception of Mr. Spock,” the Caretaker said. “There are no other telepaths on your ship?”

“That’s correct,” Kirk said, his tone wary.

“Excellent. It shall take just a few seconds to implement. I also will make a few other adjustments to reduce the chances of injury. ‘I wish’ can be used to end any fantasy as well.” The Caretaker turned toward Spock. “Vulcan safety features will take slightly longer due to your telepathic abilities, but should be completed within the hour.”  

Kirk watched Spock prepare to speak, probably to explain why it was unnecessary since he wouldn’t be staying anyways.

“You know, the greater the mind, the greater the need for play,” Kirk said. He held Spock’s gaze for a moment, and he was certain his invitation was understood.

“I believe I have had as much ‘play’ as I require. Although,” Spock inclined his head toward Kirk, “I have learned from my visit that solitude is not the only way to gain a sense of peace.”

“I’m glad it was educational for you,” Kirk said, masking his disappointment.

He snapped open his communicator. “Lieutenant,” Kirk said when Uhura answered, “have Scotty prepare to beam Spock back on board, and then begin sending the first shift down.”

“Captain?” Spock said.

Kirk shifted his attention to his first officer.

“Will you be returning to the ship to file your report on the incident now?” Spock asked.

Just the thought of trying to find the words to explain a giant rabbit, a tiger, and a shirtless first officer gave him cause for a long, internal groan. There was a definite downside to being captain.

“I can,” Kirk said. He ignored the suggestion of guilt he read on Spock at his lack of enthusiasm, and spoke into the communicator. “Actually, prepare to beam up Spock and myself—”

Kirk paused. In the distance Ruth was approaching, which was strange because he hadn’t been thinking about her at all. And he certainly hadn’t said “I wish.”

Spock turned to follow his gaze. He stiffened a little when he saw Ruth, and if Kirk didn’t know any better he would have said he seemed embarrassed.

“I can make notes for you, however, if you would like to wait until you return,” Spock said.

It was a generous offer, and he was tired. Spock had done everything he could to try to get him to leave the ship. Maybe he should listen for once.

“On second thought, just beam up Spock. I’m going to stay for a shift or two.” He ended the transmission.

“Thank you, Spock.” Kirk gave him a warm smile. “I probably should follow your advice more often.”

Oddly, Spock had become reserved again, and he seemed transfixed by Ruth. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He was probably wondering how she worked, his mind coveting the knowledge he could gain and all the ways those casting could be put to use.

He walked past Spock to join Ruth. She smiled at him, and they fell into step beside each other without speaking. It was comfortable, like the silence of old friends, but more so that now that he knew she wasn’t actually Ruth, he was more at ease getting what he actually wanted out of the situation.

When they had gone a fair distance beyond the sight of his crew, he wished for a meadow and a picnic. It had been a long time since he’d eaten, and it seemed like a place to start while he came up with better ideas.

It worked, and every detail was just a little better than he’d imagined. Ruth sat across from him, her smile strangely knowing.

He took a deep breath to push his words past his trepidation, and said:

“I wish you were Spock.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

It couldn’t possibly be ok to borrow his first officer’s image like this.

Kirk’s eyes swept over the replica. He detected no judgment. However, considering this Spock was conjured from Kirk’s imagination, he probably wasn’t the most accurate indicator of culpability.

Although, out of all the crew members he could have chosen, Spock was the most logical choice since he would be the least likely to be upset about it—“upset” being an emotion and all.

Not that Spock needed to know the details, or to be subjected to gossip about what his captain was doing with his likeness.

Kirk glanced around the clearing. Other than the casting—who was regarding Kirk with increasing curiosity—he was alone.

“I wish for a tent,” Kirk said.

It appeared around them instantly, effectively providing the privacy he’d wanted. But instead of being the simple Starfleet dome he’d envisioned, this one was extravagant with lavish cushions, dim lighting, and a roof pitched high enough that even Spock could stand without hitting his head.

Well, even if his wish had gone awry, at least it seemed to be an improvement.

“I thought we could eat together?” Kirk said. He felt silly, because it wasn’t really Spock, and playing make believe with a pretend version of someone he was infatuated with probably qualified as the most pathetic way he could spend his leave.

“I respectfully decline your offer, Captain,” the casting of Spock said.

Except being rejected by the pretend version. That was _definitely_ more pathetic.

At Kirk’s expression Casting Spock continued. “There is nothing here suitable for me to eat.” He motioned toward the selection of meats, cheeses, and the odd bread product—which probably contained whey or eggs—that had been Ruth’s favorite foods.

 _Oh, right._ Kirk gave him a sheepish head shake, and quickly wished for fruit, vegetable, and legume replacements that were probably not Spock’s favorites—did he have favorites?—but were at least one’s he’d seen him eat before.

The brief indicator of gratitude Kirk received, barely the hint of a smile, went straight through him, spreading out to flow warm in his veins. It was ridiculous that even an imitation of Spock was capable of affecting him so much. And that Kirk was even bothering to make this into a date instead of going straight for sex only further showed how bad it had gotten.

“This must be weird for you,” Kirk said. “At least, it’s weird for me. You’re not the real Spock, and here we are—”

One eyebrow raised in a way that told him he should probably shut up now.

“I mean, you’re real, of course. You’re just not—original.”

“If you would prefer to be with the original then I would advise you to make that a reality.”

“Yeah, the odds of that happening are essentially zero.” He watched Casting Spock take a breath, presumably to tell him what the odds actually were, and Kirk quickly changed the subject.  “So how do you work? Are you based on my conception of Spock, or is there a database of preset personalities, like ‘Conflicted Vulcan Number Five,’ or…?”

Maybe it would be better if he thought of this as an opportunity for Spock dating practice, a chance to get all the dumb crap that was tumbling out of his mouth over with before he tried any of this with the other one, because _holy hell_ was he not in control of his words.

Casting Spock, however, seemed unoffended. “You are inquiring as to the accuracy of my design?”

“Um, yeah, I guess so.”

“A scan is made of every visitor to the planet. Therefore, anatomically I am an exact replica.”

Kirk dropped his gaze to his plate. He did not think about Spock’s anatomical accuracy.

“My personality, however, is a combination of your perceptions, memories, and desires, which are then tempered with additional safety features since humans do not always choose to amuse themselves in ways that are compatible with longevity.”

“Ah.” He couldn’t argue with that, considering what human vices were like. “So basically, if I wanted to do something fun, but that was also potentially dangerous, you’d stop me.”

Casting Spock made a motion with his head to indicate partial agreement. “The modifications also act as a precaution against the unintended consequences of negative emotions. For example, if you experienced guilt during our interaction there would be a real possibility that you would expect an act of retaliation.”

“Last time you retaliated you vaporized my shirt.” Kirk allowed himself a small smirk at the memory.

Casting Spock shifted his attention to his beverage, some type of tea, that when lifted to his mouth held a sudden resemblance to a barricade.

Kirk grinned, but instead of saying anything he took a sip of his own coffee.

“The destruction of a shirt is minor compared with the kinds of violence humans are capable of,” Casting Spock said, after a moment.  

“True.” Kirk shrugged. “Although, the flaws of my species isn’t exactly the topic I thought I’d be discussing over a meal with a replica of my—” _first officer_ was too official, and _friend_ didn’t have the right connotation, but nothing better came to mind so he finished with, “Spock.”

Then his face grew hot as he realized which two words he’d put together.

“You may find that it would be advantageous to stop thinking of me as a replica.” Casting Spock’s eyes lingered on Kirk then, in a way that was very familiar, only also very different because it held blatant desire. Something _his_ _Spock_ —he may as well admit that was how he was starting to think of him—would never express. Not for him. 

There was a part of Kirk that was aware that his interest had gone beyond some craving to be sated and forgotten. It was not a victory that could be won, and then reduced to a trophy for display whenever nostalgia struck. He suspected the more he had of Spock, the more he would become aware of what he lacked without him, and that once his attention was drawn to this it would open like an abyss, a void that he could never fill with anyone, or anything else.

Kirk looked at his hands. They had become clenched. He flexed them, flattening them on his thighs before he spoke.

“Is it alright if I touch you?” Kirk asked.

“That would be permissible,” Casting Spock inclined his head toward Kirk, “Captain.” That last word was said in a way that was uniquely Spock’s, a perfect combination of subtle amusement and warmth.

Kirk was lost.

He moved to sit beside him. Kirk hesitated only a moment before he softly traced his fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble on otherwise smooth skin. Dark eyes followed Kirk’s hand, before returning to his face, but otherwise he remained still. He was angles and contrasts. Unmoving perfection.

Kirk leaned in close enough to notice that the casting even smelled like Spock. He took a moment to breathe him in, pausing at the same distance he had earlier that day with his Spock.

Maybe it was the parallel that caused what happened next, or maybe it was just his own mind’s masochistic ability to sneak cruelty past even the safe guards. But, whatever the reason, Casting Spock chose that moment to seek Kirk’s hand, and press the Oath of Friendship into his fingers.

Kirk jerked away. He stared at their joined hands, his brow drawing into a deep furrow. Had he actually managed to fail at the seduction of his own wish-fulfillment-planet creation? He shook his head, and released a brief, frustrated laugh.

“So even in my fantasies we’re just friends?” Kirk was suddenly very tired. He wondered how many captain points he would lose if he just gave up, and wished for the casting to curl up with him and take a nap.

Casting Spock tilted his head slightly to the side. “What gives you cause to speculate that our relationship is limited to the parameters of friendship?”

Kirk extracted his hand from the casting’s grasp. “You gave me the secret friendship handshake. That doesn’t leave much room for speculation.”

Casting Spock stared at him.

After a time Kirk started to feel a little guilty because it wasn’t the casting’s fault that Kirk’s brain was apparently capable of injuring itself with wishes, even with the training wheels on.

“Not that it’s a bad thing,” Kirk said. “I mean, friendship is great.”

“The human mind’s inability to retain knowledge is,” Casting Spock said, speaking slowly and with wonder, “startling.”

“Hey, now—”

“Have you truly forgotten what touching hands in this manner means to Vulcans?”

Kirk shifted, the cushion beneath him no longer comfortable. He should have known that any version of Spock would choose to argue semantics, even now.

“I didn’t forget. Look, I may have called it a hand shake, but I know it’s actually the Vulcan Oath of Friendship. Uhura taught it to me, and she would know all about it because she was dating Spock, er, you.”

“Fascinating.” His expression was the one that Spock got whenever faced with a new oddity, the one that emerged an instant before the tricorder. “You are entirely ignorant of the subject.”

Kirk blinked. “No, not ‘fascinating.’” He forced himself to keep his voice even. “And your memories are supposed to be based on mine, so how can you question what I know?” Although, he shouldn’t have been surprised that his fantasy had devolved into an interrogation—and not the fun kind with safe words.

“I meant no offense,” Casting Spock said. “However, I have access to all the knowledge you possess, not only what you presently remember.”

Kirk blinked. “Wait, so you know everything I’ve known, even all the things I’ve forgotten?” The espionage implications of that were terrifying. Kirk would have to check into it when he got back to the Enterprise.

Casting Spock made a solemn nod. “I regret to inform you, Captain, that you have been misled on the nature of the gesture.”

Kirk frowned. “I don’t understand. Spock reciprocated the hand thing, and he wouldn’t have done that unless it was real.”

Casting Spock lifted Kirk’s fingers gently. He turned them palm side up, but left them otherwise untouched.

“Touching in this manner is the way that Vulcans share intimacy, it is similar to, although not exactly the same, as a human kiss.”

Kirk stared at him.

Casting Spock stared back.

“You mean like the way some people kiss everyone on the cheek when they say ‘hello?’”

“The selection of whom to share it with is considerably more limited.”

“So it’s a family thing?”

“That is not the type of intimacy to which I refer.”

“You can’t mean kissing as in—” He looked at Casting Spock for a moment and his stomach lurched. “Oh, god, you do. You mean I’ve been _kissing_ Spock?”

The corner of Casting Spock’s mouth tugged upward. “Correct, Captain.”

“And he’s been kissing me back?” Kirk looked down at his palm and then back up. “For a month now?”

“While your estimation of time is crude, your assessment of the other Spock’s actions is correct.”

“You’re telling me what I want to hear because this is my fantasy? Is that it?” A part of Kirk’s brain noted the pleading edge to his own voice, and filed it away for later when he actually had time to be embarrassed about such things.

Casting Spock’s expression smoothed. “The purpose of such a mistruth would be to bring you fulfillment, but I do not think you will find the implications to be pleasing when you have had time to consider them.”

It took Kirk a moment to decipher the meaning of that.

“So, Spock kissing me was a bad thing, and therefore real?”

“You have been in a relationship of a romantic nature for twenty-nine point six two days where neither person was aware of the terms or the intentions of the other.”

“Maybe it wasn’t the best start, but at least now I know he’s attracted to me, and—” And he hadn’t been behaving like he’d been in a relationship—which was how he imagined Spock would have defined it since he didn’t seem like the type to do casual anything.

How many people had Kirk flirted with in front of Spock? He had a way of doing that with everyone, not that it meant anything. Had he slept with anyone? No, the last time had been close to five months ago. But then he’d come here and—

Ruth. He’d kissed Ruth in front of Spock. Told him how much he’d wanted her.

But Spock hadn’t reacted—except, he _had_. He’d been so very interested in her. The way he’d stared, the questions he’d asked—the speech about _humans and their lack of self-control_. Kirk winced. The impressions he’d gotten that Spock was bothered, but then he’d assumed were due to his own feelings.

He remembered Spock’s disappointment when he didn’t kiss him.

 _But what he’d done next_. Kirk felt ill, his stomach a slush of icicles and bile. And the way Spock had frozen as he watched Kirk walk away for “a shift or two” of shore leave sex with a planet-generated version of his long lost love.

Kirk let his face drop into his hands. “I am the worst boyfriend ever.”

Casting Spock placed a hand on his arm.

“I could ask him to beam down here,” Kirk said, his words muffled by his palms. “So I could apologize, but I don’t know if he would. He didn’t want to even before I screwed everything up.”

Casting Spock was silent.

“I could make it an order, and then try to make that up to him as well.” Kirk raised his head to look at the casting. “But he’d probably imagine me dead, and then the safeguards will glitch under all that Vulcan wrath, and that would be the end of me.” Kirk dropped his gaze again. “Not that I don’t deserve it.”

“I assure you that execution would be an excessive response to your actions.”

Kirk ran his hand through his hair. “But you’ve been modified to do me no harm. The other Spock is under no obligation to be nice, and he isn’t going to take this so well.”

”You could request that I cease being nice to you, within certain parameters, if that would improve the realism of our interactions.”

“Well, there’s always that option.” Kirk managed a weak smile, but it soon disappeared under the weight of his thoughts. “But why did he offer to let me go with Ruth? Was he testing me? Doesn’t he have to tell me before he does that?”

Casting Spock’s mouth thinned with distaste.

“Well, if it wasn’t a test, then why? I mean he even offered to help with the paperwork.” Kirk frowned. “And if we really are involved with each other, then why didn’t he want to spend leave with me?” But he knew the answer. Spock wanted what was best for him. “It was a gift, wasn’t it? He stayed behind to work while I got the rest I needed. He just didn’t expect me to conjure Ruth. God damn it. We wouldn’t be in this mess if he was just a little more selfish.”

He got an eyebrow for that.

Kirk opened his communicator, but paused before starting the connection. “So, is he going to forgive me for how I’ve treated him?”

“I lack sufficient information to respond with accuracy.”

Kirk sighed. “I expected as much.”

Casting Spock steepled his fingers together, and emanated quiet curiosity while Kirk began the transmission.

“Spock, here,” the real Spock said, his tone indecipherable.

“Kirk, here,” he said. His mouth had become dry, and he rewet his lips.

“Do you require assistance, Captain?”

“I would like to return to the ship.”

“The crew is still in the process of being transported to the planet’s surface.” There was a pause. “But if this is an emergency, I will reschedule the drops.”

Kirk deflated. As much as it felt like an emergency, he couldn’t let his personal issues get in the way of the ship’s operation.

“No, there’s no emergency,” Kirk said. “When will I be able to beam up?”

“In fifty-three point four minutes there will be a small group returning to the ship. It would be a simple matter to include you.”

“Ok, thank you, Spock.” He didn’t end the communication, opting to let Spock do it with his usual efficiency.

Only he didn’t. “Captain, may I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“What is your purpose in returning to the ship?”

Kirk swallowed. “I think there was a bit of a—misunderstanding.”

“I see.” Spock tone gave him nothing, but it was telling that his infinite curiosity didn’t prompt him to inquire as to what Kirk meant.

“There’s something I need to discuss with you.” Kirk heard a beep on the other side of the transmission.

“Captain, there is an incoming communication from the planet’s surface.”

“Take it, Spock. I’ll talk to you when I get there.”

“Captain…” Spock was silent for just a moment too long before he spoke again. “Acknowledged. Spock, out.”

Kirk closed his communicator, and looked to where Casting Spock was sitting. His eyes were rapt.

“If you say that was fascinating I will throw something at you.”

The eyebrow went up, and Kirk shook his head.

At least Spock was willing to talk to him. Kirk dreaded having to wait almost an hour though, too much time in which to annihilate his nerves in anticipation of that particular conversation. He decided it would likely be a good idea to lure Spock away from the bridge before he began, since it would probably be in poor form to let the crew witness their captain groveling to the first officer—and he imagined he was going to be doing an awful lot of groveling _._  

“It looks like I’ve got some time to kill,” Kirk said. “Maybe, in the interest of convincing other you not to hold this against me forever, you could help me remember some of the things I’ve forgotten I know about you?”

“That may prove to be a formidable task,” the casting said, but he sat forward anyway, ready to begin.

“Indeed.” Kirk gave him a half smile. “But I’ll take any advantage I can get.”


	5. Chapter 5

Spock wasn’t in the transporter room when Kirk arrived. Not that he’d expected him to be when he had command, but it didn’t stop Kirk from looking.

But when Kirk reached the bridge it was Lieutenant Hansen that was in the captain’s chair. Spock was standing beside Uhura’s station, deep in conversation.

Kirk stopped walking. He forced air into his lungs around the sudden tightness in his chest. He reminded himself that he _wanted_ Spock to be on good terms with his ex.

And even though Kirk wasn’t having the kindest of thoughts toward his communications officer, it was not the time to confront her. He would be having a conversation with her— _a long one_ —but not now.

He’d nearly bolstered his resolve to the point where he could maintain his composure, when Spock saved him the trouble, and approached first.

“Captain,” Spock greeted him with a polite nod. “I took the liberty of transferring command to Lieutenant Hansen in anticipation of your arrival, if that is acceptable?”

Uhura was watching them, her features rigid as if she was suppressing some emotion. Kirk hoped— _sincerely_ for her sake—that it wasn’t amusement. He sent one hard look in her direction before he switched his attention to Spock.

“That’s acceptable,” Kirk said. He entered the lift, and Spock followed him.

Spock’s demeanor was controlled, but with none of the exaggerated blankness Kirk had witnessed on the planet. Nor did his voice contain any undercurrents of distress or rage when he instructed the turbolift to take them to deck five.

Kirk glanced at him, his own voice command dying on his lips.

Spock seemed to notice his look. “Either of our quarters would make a suitably private location, where we would be unlikely to be disturbed.” Spock focused his eyes on the lift doors, but his tone remained indifferent. “Unless you have a different preference, Captain?”  

“No, that will be fine.” Kirk shifted his attention to the doors, outwardly mimicking Spock’s composure. His thoughts, however, were anything but ordered.    

_Were they romantically involved?_ All of his information had come from a replicated Spock generated from his own brain—something he was having progressively more doubts about with each hour. If he was wrong and they weren’t involved, this conversation was going to be awkward. Or more awkward. Well, at least Spock wouldn’t laugh at him if it all turned out to be a misunderstanding. Not out loud anyway.

It was then that Kirk realized Spock was speaking to him.

“—ended prematurely, were you able to find your rest enjoyable, Captain?”

Kirk almost laughed, but he caught himself. “’Enjoyable’ isn’t the right term.” _Mindboggling_ maybe. _Embarrassing-as-hell_ definitely. “I guess, like you, I found it educational.” He congratulated himself on his diplomacy.

Until he saw the faint signs of worry etched into Spock’s brow and mouth.

Kirk frowned. There was no reason for Spock to be upset about his captain learning something. Hell, as soon as Spock realized just how many problems Kirk’s ignorance had possibly caused them, he would find it downright _agreeable_.

Unless Spock was concerned that he was still overworked, and that not ‘enjoying’ his leave would have a direct impact on his job. It fit with the theory that Spock had never had any non-platonic feelings for him whatsoever, and that the casting’s theory was something from Kirk’s imagination.

He felt an irrational pang of disappointment. They would be back to being friends. There was a part of him that felt that, without some kind of cosmic intervention, Spock would never find him appealing enough to ever be anything more.

They arrived at deck five, and Kirk exited into the hall. It took him a second to notice Spock wasn’t following. He looked back to see his first officer standing frozen, like some wind-up toy soldier that had lost its key.

It wasn’t until the doors began to close that Spock’s returned to life, thrusting his hands out to stop the motion, and stepping through to join Kirk in the hallway. His face was slightly flushed.

“Are you alright?” Kirk resisted the urge to put his wrist on Spock’s forehead. Not only would Spock likely protest, but Kirk wouldn’t know how to make a comparison when their body temperatures were so different. He wondered if for all Spock’s assurances that he didn’t need a break, he’d managed to wear himself down like the rest of them.

“I am—quite well,” Spock said, avoiding his eyes, “however, since the hallways are monitored, Captain, may we refrain from further conversation until we are in one of our quarters?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Mine are closer.”

Kirk’s nerves weren’t so sure that was a selling point, but if Spock was feeling ill it would be better if they went to where the climate controls were already set to his ideal conditions. It would also be easier for Spock to lie down if he needed to once Kirk left.

He gestured for Spock to lead the way, and followed him into his quarters.

Inside Spock’s room, Kirk looked over the limited selection of furniture. Sitting across from each other at the desk seemed too formal. He wasn’t even going to consider the bed. Spock did have his meditation mats, maybe—

“Jim,” Spock said. His voice was deep and slightly rough.

Kirk turned to find that Spock was standing so close that Kirk could have put his arms around him—if that kind of thing was allowed. But despite his proximity, Spock’s posture was rigid with his legs apart and hands behind his back. Only Spock was capable of looking so unyielding, almost militant, while standing at ease.

Without breaking his stance, Spock then did the decidedly unmilitary act of pressing his lips to Kirk’s.

They were romantically involved.

Spock made no further moment once contact was made. As if by providing his lips he had done his share of creating the kiss, and whatever else happened was up to Kirk. And if Kirk’s shock had been less he would have, but before he could recover Spock was already pulling away.

But hell, even if it hadn’t been the most interactive of kisses, it had definitely done its job, if Kirk’s body was in charge of handing out evaluations anyway.

Spock’s eyes scanned Kirk as if he were the results of some laboratory experiment, his forehead ever so slightly wrinkled below his bangs. Kirk had the brief thought that scrutiny had no right to be so sexy, before he dragged his mind back to what he was supposed to be doing.

“Spo—” was all he managed before he was cut off by another kiss.

Spock’s eyes were closed, but Kirk’s were not, and he watched as Spock raised his arms as if he meant to embrace him, only to falter. It was an odd thing to be indecisive over since they were already kissing—although, maybe Vulcans judged such things by the percentage of contact, and so pressing whole bodies together was a bigger deal than the comparatively smaller area of two mouths. Whatever the cause, Spock’s arms were still suspended out from his sides, wavering slightly, as if he didn’t quite have the aptitude or the courage for what came next.

Or like he was a bird about to take flight.

The image threatened to erupt into a bout of nervous laughter. But before Kirk could commit such an unforgivable act, Spock’s hands moved to his shoulders, fingers digging in with determination. As if he’d sensed Kirk’s thoughts, Spock’s lips parted, and his tongue drove the beginnings of laughter from his mouth.

Awkwardness was replaced by arousal, and Kirk wrapped his arms around Spock’s lean body, deepening the kiss. He could feel the strength in Spock’s movements, but there was a gentleness beneath even his more aggressive touches. As if Kirk were somehow precious, something he had to be careful with or he would be lost.

Kirk didn’t notice they’d moved until the back of his knees hit Spock’s mattress.

They needed to talk before this went further. Kirk put his hands up in front of him in what he’d assumed was the universal sign to slow down, only to have Spock twine his fingers through his as if he’d made some kind of invitation.

They landed on the bed, and Kirk’s focus shifted as their hips slid together. Spock tilted his face to kiss lightly along the side of Kirk’s jaw. His hands moved over Kirk’s body with an intensity, almost a reverence. No one had ever touched him like this before.

It would be easy to say nothing. To pretend he’d always known.

But something felt off. And as much as he liked how things were progressing, it was odd that they’d gone from interactions so subtle he’d missed them—to writhing together on Spock’s bed.

Kirk looked at Spock, trying to see past the filter of his own desire. Spock’s eyes were tightly shut as if in concentration, as if he were attempting to force some positive outcome through the sheer application of will.

If Kirk’s actions had been affected by their miscommunications, then likely so were Spock’s. Spock deserved better than that.

“Listen,” Kirk said, “about Ruth—”

Spock cut him off again, but the kiss was too hard, his teeth scraping Kirk’s lip. Kirk made a small sound, and Spock eased off, giving a softer, almost apologetic, one in its place. Spock didn’t open his eyes, but he seemed to know that Kirk wasn’t willing to let the subject drop anyway.

“The engineered multicellular casting,” Spock said, “merely resembled the woman from your youth.”

“But—” Another brief kiss.

“And doubtless possessed many subtle inaccuracies due to the limitations of human memory.”

“That’s not the point—”

“It had no bearing on our relationship.” Spock fastened his mouth over Kirk’s, evidently deciding the conversation was done.

Kirk tried not to let his mind reel at the word _relationship._ Not when he needed to figure out whySpock was so determined to shut him up.

Kirk rolled them so Spock was on his back, and pressed his knees between his first officer’s thighs. Spock’s eyes finally opened, and for a moment a mixture of relief and fear flashed through them. It told Kirk exactly what he needed to know.

Kirk kissed him softly before he leaned his forehead against Spock’s, giving himself enough room to speak without interruption.

“I didn’t sleep with Ruth—” at Spock’s look he amended to, “—the engineered multicellular casting.”

“It would be of no consequence—”

“Nothing happened,” Kirk said carefully, “I wished her away almost as soon as I was out of sight.”

“I have no need of such reassurances,” Spock said, and Kirk was certain he was lying because while there was no outward reaction, there was a kind of aura of relief around him. “But I thank you for your consideration.”

Kirk kissed him softly, uncertain of how much longer he’d be allowed to.

“But there is something I have to tell you,” Kirk said finally, “and you’re probably going to get mad about it.”

Spock tensed. “You forget that I am disinclined to have an emotional response to your words,” Spock said. His expression was unexpectedly resigned.

“Even so,” Kirk said, deciding to let the inaccuracies in that one pass as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, “you might want to sit up for this.”

After a brief hesitation Spock joined him.

“Someone told me that when Vulcans press their fingers together,” Kirk held up his first two fingers, and Spock’s eyes lingered on them for a moment before they returned to his face. “That it’s part of the Vulcan Oath of Friendship, and that it’s a gesture—a platonic gesture—used between friends.”

Spock slowly blinked several times, as if he were attempting to reset the words to make them logical.

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it? More intimate like a—” Kirk gathered his courage, “—human kiss?”

Spock’s expression settled into a vague frown. “You must have known. If not at first, then during the next twenty-nine point seven days, you must have realized…?”

“I should have, but,” Kirk forced himself to meet Spock’s eyes, “you would do it whenever I got, well, _flirty_ with you. I thought you were telling me you didn’t like me like that, and that we should just be friends, since you were, you know, giving me the friendship handshake and all whenever we got too close.”

Spock’s stare became so intense that Kirk caved and averted his eyes.

“You initiated a series of traditional, human courtship rituals with me,” Spock said in a voice that was every bit as intense as his stare.

“But see, without any signs of affection, at least not any I was aware of, stuff like eating together, playing games, and so on are all the kinds of things friends do.” Kirk took a quick breath. “I’m really sorry about this. It was completely my fault for not double checking the information.”

Spock was silent.

Kirk still wasn’t brave enough to look at him. “But there are worse things that could have happened, right? We’re lucky things didn’t get out of hand.” Like if he’d actually slept with someone.

He felt Spock’s demeanor harden, as if his form was transmuted from Vulcan to marble right there on the bed. “I apologize for assuming you were capable of understanding the standard behavior typical of Vulcan and human courtships.”

Kirk chose not to respond to that non-apology, since he wasn’t certain if he was more annoyed by the insult, or at himself for finding the roundabout way that Spock made it endearing.

“I did have a trusted source,” Kirk said.

“Evidently not.”

Kirk shrugged in a way that more helpless than nonchalant. “She’d dated a Vulcan, so I had no reason—”

“Who was—” Spock stopped himself. “May I ask, Captain, what was your source’s name?”

Kirk had no idea if revealing this would make things any better, but not answering him would most certainly make them worse.

“Uhura,” Kirk said.

Spock closed his eyes. “I see.” He let out a small breath that wasn’t a sigh, but was close. “I forgive you.”

“She volunteered the information, I promise I wasn’t trying to pry—wait, you do?”

“Her council is, in theory, sound.” Spock opened his eyes, but they had gone far away. “Although of late, the result of following her advice seems to be, at best, counterproductive.”

Kirk had the distinct feeling that Spock was retreating from him. The casting had encouraged him to trust his instincts regarding Spock, no matter how unfounded they seemed. But while he could tell something was wrong, he didn’t know what to say to bring him back.

“This isn’t the first time she’s given—counterproductive—advice?” Kirk asked.

“You would have had no reason to doubt her sincerity.” Spock stood, and moved a few steps from the bed. Kirk was reminded of a challenger slinking away after defeat. “I apologize for assuming we were in a relationship without a verbal declaration.”

“That’s not something to apologize for.” Kirk got to his feet, prepared to follow Spock if he tried to leave. It occurred to him that Spock’s forgiveness had been given before he knew Kirk’s motivations. “It might help if I explain—”

“There is no need. I understand.” Spock had moved to stand beside his desk with his back to Kirk.

“Understand what?” Kirk hesitated. “I haven’t gotten to that part yet.”

“There is no need for elaboration. Lieutenant Uhura also wished to give similar explanations when she ended her relationship with me. However, I am able to accept the outcome more readily than a human would, and thus I do not require a lengthy dissertation as to our incompatibility.”

Kirk responded with an eloquent, “What?”

“Further, I will not allow my lapse in judgment to impact our professional relationship or our friendship.”

“Spock, I—I don’t want to end—” He took a step towards him, his hand out, but stopped short of contact. “I mean, if anyone should be ending things it should be you, because basically everything has been my fault, well, mine and Uhura’s. But I really hope you don’t because I’ve wanted to be with you for months, I just thought you were unattainable.”

Spock turned around, his face carefully blank. His gaze dropped to Kirk’s half-extended hand.

“Just because I didn’t know we were kissing,” Kirk continued, “didn’t mean that I didn’t want to. Hell, I’ve wanted to kiss you in every way possible for a long time.”

“I had the impression,” Spock said, “that I was able to sense your— _interest_ through your touch.”

“You did.” Not sure if he would be rejected, but figuring he ought to give Spock the opportunity to choose either way, Kirk offered him his index and middle fingers.

For a moment Spock didn’t move. Then there was a sudden exhalation, and Kirk didn’t know if it was his or Spock’s or both, but their finger met, and the familiar sensation sparked between their hands. But more than that, he could feel Spock’s relief through the contact. It mirrored his own.

“So,” Kirk said, “does this mean you’ll give me another chance?” He tried to repress his grin, to at least let Spock make a proper answer, but he could feel it forcing its way to the corners of his mouth.

Spock stepped closer to him. His lips were set in a serious line, but his eyes revealed everything.

“Has it occurred to you, that there is a certain inefficiency in asking questions you already know the answers to?” Spock was almost radiating contentment, and Kirk gave up trying to stop himself from beaming.

“Yeah, but I think we’ve established that if you don’t spell it out for me I’m prone to make some really stupid mistakes.” Kirk leaned forward to gently kiss the side of Spock’s face. He didn’t reciprocate, but Kirk got the impression he approved anyway. “Although, only a Vulcan could be so subtle that someone could date one for an entire month without even knowing it.”

Spock’s lips twitched. “Only a human could be so oblivious.”

Kirk chuckled at that. “Maybe. Although for future reference, shore leave would have been a lot less stressful if you’d spent it with me.” Kirk gave an exaggerated sigh. “But you had to go and ruin everything with a selfless concern for my health.”

“Not always selfless.” Spock ran his fingers down the side of Kirk’s face. “I did ask you to return to the ship.”

“When?” Kirk moved back so he could see all of Spock’s face. “The way I remember it I asked you to stay, and you turned me down.”

“I asked you if you would return to file your report.”

Kirk looked at him with a slight frown while he tried to figure out how that was relevant. Then when he understood his shoulders began to shake as laughter rolled out of him in undignified peels and snorts.

Spock raised an eyebrow, but his expression was patient.

“You attempted to lure me back with _paperwork_?”

“Seeing as how this request was a complete reversal of my previous suggestions that you cease work, my meaning should have been clear.”

“Yeah, we’re going to have to work on your seduction techniques.”

“That seems to be a popular belief.”

“Oh, you weren’t so bad a few minutes ago, with the direct approach.”

Spock wasn’t looking at him.

Kirk reined in his amusement. “I was joking. Humans are tricky. I fail most of the time.” He always had done better with aliens.

“I was not offended by your statement. I merely observed that another shared your opinion.”

“Who?” Kirk put his hands on Spock’s shoulders. “I need a name so I know who to beat up.”

Spock’s eyes widened marginally, before relaxing into tolerant exasperation when he saw that Kirk was joking.

“It is of no consequence. It was merely the result of my inquiry as to what in my behavior creates incompatibility in human relationships.”

“Your inquiry?” Kirk thought for a moment, and previous statements clicked into place. “Does this have to do with—what kind of advice did you say Uhura gave lately?”

“Counterproductive.”

“Uh-huh.” Kirk tried not to seem too curious. “So what did she tell you?”

“I had become concerned that I was failing to take your human needs into account in our relationship.” Spock made a motion to silence him, as if sensing Kirk’s intent to deny this. “I took steps to obtain more knowledge on the subject through analysis of my mistakes in my prior relationship. Lieutenant Uhura suggested, among other things, that I failed to provide adequate amounts of physical affection. Her reasoning in this respect appeared sound, and so I sought to rectify this.”

“So that’s why—” Kirk made a vague gesture that was supposed to take in both of them, the room, and the bed, but was more of an undirected flail.

Spock seemed to understand what he meant anyway. “It was logical to demonstrate my ability to provide you with gratification.”

Kirk swallowed. “On second thought, Uhura gives excellent advice.”

“Except that the concerns I had no longer apply.” Spock tilted his head. “You do not require outside sources for satisfaction.”

“No, of course not, I’m happy with you.” Kirk hesitated. “But you can still gratify—I mean, we can still gratify each other.”

“You have only been aware of our relationship for a period of a few hours. It may prove detrimental to your system to advance the level of intimacy so quickly.”

“I promise I can handle it.”

“The safe rate of increase in intimacy will, of course, depend on a number of factors.” Spock initiated a human kiss, and Kirk suspected it was, yet again, a diversion tactic, only this time to conceal his amusement. “The necessary interim could be quite variable.”

“Which is your science-y way of telling me, ‘not now’ but ‘maybe soon?’” Kirk did his best to look put out, but he wasn’t really bothered by the idea. Dedicating his free time and energy to seducing Spock was far from unappealing.

Spock nodded. “Dependent on a number of factors.”

Kirk slipped his arms around Spock. “I would consider those factors worthy of research, wouldn’t you, Mr. Spock?”

“That would be—” Spock’s eyes were dark as their bodies fitted together. He allowed Kirk to softly mouth one of his ears for several moments before he seemed to remember he hadn’t finished his answer. “Indeed.”

Kirk kissed him then, to muffle the sounds of his own amusement—which at this point was little more than a euphemism for unrepentant joy—as he resolved to find out just how nonsensical his first officer could become. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this story!


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